


YAMOSHI - Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine

by Mercurionos



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Ancient History, Canon Universe, Civil War, Discrimination, Drama, Freedom, Introspection, Legends, Missing Scene, Multi, Orations: Philippicae - Marcus Tullius Cicero, Philosophy, Politics, Pre-Canon, Speeches, War, missing moment, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurionos/pseuds/Mercurionos
Summary: A long, long time ago, on a planet far from Earth, lived proud and indomitable people. That planet was Sadala: the home of the Saiyans, the noblest house since time immemorial, the unparalleled name and frieze of all rulers. Strong by nature, always ready to show their strength boldly, the Saiyans all resembled each other in a well-known detail in the Universe: their hair. A crown of ebony, tinged with pure darkness, encircled their foreheads and their steadfast and fierce gazes. But he, the only one of his kind, had red hair. He was the god of that world, his name was Yamoshi.
Kudos: 3





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've ever published in english. I finally decided to translate a story that was quite well recieved in Italy, and I really hope you will like it. As it's the first english story I published on Ao3, i kindly ask you to tell me whether there are any errors or if you have any suggestions for me, I'd really appreciate it. I want this story to be at its best for all readers to enjoy.  
> I hope you will like my story, as it's one of my favourites, among the stories I wrote in the past years. Thank You all for reading!

The wind was blowing.

Powerful, whipping rambunctiously, almost painful on the skin.

The air’s cold and that burning sensation on the face, those were some of the greatest pleasures you could experience, some of the most vivid colours gifted by the life on Sadala.

Tall mountain grass was waving like the sea, from green to blue, upon the miniscule crowns on the rocky plateaus. Rising up from brown dirt, they went on up to the horizon, to the distant ocean.

The golden sky burnedup all of a sudden, scarred by that day’s dying light. Then it vanished. The splendour faded as rapidly as it appeared that same morning.

And then, the stars. The silent companions of his sleepless nights. There were so many, so diverse and unique, that every evening he could greet a new one, learn to recognize it, remember its location and rejoice in finding it again, every so often, in the night sky.

Overall, in the midst of all those colours, someone could have said that he was _out of tune_. The world had darkened, just lightly brushed by that distant light, casted on earth by the stars; everything had fallen silent in the faint, nightly dark… Except for him.

Air was tousling his hair, dragging along faint slivers of light, tiny and ephemeral splinters that raised from his mane, like small tongues of fire. That lukewarm radiance never abandoned him.

Perhaps also because of that he struggled in getting to sleep. A small price to pay in return for the privileges he could have enjoyed, but which he had never wanted to hear a thing about. He said he had _something else to take care of_.

He turned around, hearing steps coming closer and closer: someone was going up the long stone staircase. Everyone felt obliged to do so, slowly walking along that endless climb, despite knowing well that it would have been much simpler to fly to the top of the mountain.

It was there that, centuries before, the sanctuary he called home had been erected.

Even before he could see his visitor’s face, he heard his voice calling him: “Master!” Such was the way the five chieftains, who lived on the mountainside, had chosen to call him. Such had also been the way he himself had used to call his predecessor.

Finally, he could see the man. He was, in all respects, very similar to his master: tall, slim, and quite handsome. In all physical aspects alike except one, that brilliance: he still radiated that faint light, the other didn’t; and their hair, it was as identical in that bizarre hairstyle as it was different in its colour: the visitor, like his fellow companions, sported a jet-black shock of hair, tinted by the purest darkness, while the master, the only one of his kind, well… his hair was red.

It was by no means a pale, soft red, not a mere coppery reflection, nor scarlet, not even carmine, but something much more intense. Just allowing your eyes to have the opportunity to marvel at the intense crimson veining of his hair seemed a carnal pleasure, a sensation unusual as it was exceptional. It almost seemed that the very concept of _colour_ , that everything that could have been described as _red_ was embodied in that Saiyan’s enchanting mane.

“Master!”

“Artio, what is going on? Please, take a seat.”

“Master, his majesty accepted. He wants us to show up at the council tomorrow.”

“Did King Sadala accept? Just like that, out of the blue?”

“Apparently, yes. Only a little while ago Kon and Mato saw a messenger wandering around the fields. They’ve come from the palace, and only wanted to tell us this: tomorrow, early in the morning, the king is going to summon the council to speak with you.”

“Then we must be grateful to His Highness. You too must come along, of course. Make sure you notify Buki and Jagga too, I will no doubt need the support of all of you. Gather the strongest warriors, and warn the neighbouring villages, since we must show up as copious as possible: the king may have accepted, but the elders are dull. If we do not show that and how the people is with us, even my word will lose any value, however sincere it may be.”

“Consider it done.”

“Then go, fly hastily. But take some time to rest later.”

“I won’t rest until everyone has heard your words.”

The man jumped up high, soaring into the sky like the seed of a dandelion, and rushed off the mountain. The air hissed frantically as he passed, giggling as cheerful as the soul of the young Saiyan.

But he did not alter his with thoughts rapt grimace. He sat on the heavy granite bench for a long time and admired the celestial sphere, but could not feel happiness.

That long-awaited opportunity had finally arisen, the chance to speak to the whole world, the perfect excuse to appease all those angry spirits… But his own soul was not serene at all.

Such a sudden change in the king’s intentions… what could it ever mean? He had always wanted to see the good in the people, to find the just intent that provoked the Saiyan’s warmongering deeds, to direct them on the right path, moved by an immeasurable hope.

But his evening perplexities rapidly turned to fear, and once again he could not get any sleep.


	2. Gold

The sun rose, flooding the sky with gold, and bathed his temples in light. He then realized that morning had come.

He wriggled out of his soft bed, freshened himself up and ate, then went out, but he was not alone: an endless crowd had piled out on the ground at the top of the mountain, silently awaiting the arrival of the red-haired Saiyan.

Thus, his doubts vanished, swept away by the morning breeze, and he was so happy that he could not hold back a smile.

His companions stood up as soldiers do at a general’s command, but no one had spoken a single word: they too, the other Saiyans, were happy to be there with him, ready to once again place their hopes in him. Some joined their hands, some others bowed.

He spoke: “His majesty king Sadala awaits us. We have long asked for a dialogue, we have long waited, living according to the principles and precepts we inherited from our ancestors. We waited, and did the right thing, knowing how wrong it seemed. And maybe today the time has come to transform our world, to make it able, like us, to evolve towards a state more suited to its inhabitants, towards a better future.”

They applauded on the verge of laughter. In their eyes one could see the happiness and weariness of those who have waited for years for justice surviving in compliance with laws that were never approved nor accepted.

He walked up to his five favourites, and they walked up to him: “Have you left our kids at home, as well as someone who can care for them?” The others nodded, and he rejoiced. Everything was ready.

He soared up into the air as if blown by the icy mountain wind then, one after another, they all followed, eastward. The Saiyans flew up, a huge fuss of people, as messy as they were happy, and he was their leader.

The _god_.

His hair waved in the wind, reflecting everywhere the first lights of the day tinged with his colour, that otherworldly red, so perfect and unimaginable that no one could have worn it but the _Saiyan god_.

Mountains, valleys, hills and plains were left behind, first dozens, then hundreds. Then they saw an immense lake, of clear and crystalline water, bathed by the blond rays of the morning.

With the sun’s rays still in their eyes they all went down towards the ground in the center of an enormous square. Those few who were there quickly moved away, frightened by the crowd that suddenly appeared from the clouds.

In front of them stood the most beautiful palace of the world, perhaps of the entire Universe: a magnificent mountain of towers, beacons, domes, peaks, pinnacles, and spires. Golden as the sky reflected in the lake, as white as the ivory light of the brightest stars, that was the royal palace of Sadala.

Sadala: the home of the Saiyans, the noblest lineage since time immemorial, the unparalleled name and frieze of all rulers.

Gradually more and more people appeared on the now-crowded square, attracted by the clamor raised by the mass. The clothes that all those peasants, engineers, fishermen and low-class warriors wore set them apart from the ordinary citizens, as formal as they were identical in their clothing.

Many noticed the brilliant hair of the man at the head of the group and called out to friends and companions. "Come ‘ere!" They screamed in the streets of the city.

The doors of the palace were thrusted open, groaning gravely along the streaks on the alabaster floor. Soldiers and more soldiers came out, more and more elegantly dressed up, then old men dressed in white, and finally the man everyone could recognise.

“Welcome, welcome! - King Sadala greeted them - Welcome to the capital, all of you.”

The master stepped forward: "We thank you, your Majesty, for your invitation.”

“You wind up not so often in these parts, don't you? But, nevertheless, I hope you can find yourself at ease today."

"It happens just as often as your invitation, your Majesty. But, as soon as you called, we presented ourselves.”

The king fell silent, shocked by the god’s frankness, and so did his ministers: but nobody could find a flaw in the man's reasoning and so everyone was amazed.

The visitors were welcomed into the sumptuous royal palace. The immense corridors and the titanic halls were tall enough to confuse the Saiyans accustomed to the small country houses.

The king's court accompanied the guests to a huge room, even larger than the ones they had crossed, richly furnished and so spacious that everyone managed to take their place in the centre of the titanic hall.

They recognized the structure of the room from the shape and from the numerous seats when the members of the council, among the most illustrious and the oldest Saiyans, entered through small doors on the high gallery that ran along the entire perimeter of the hall.

The elders took their places above the heads of their guests, and at the centre of the high balcony, directly facing the god, sat the king, who gazed at him for a long time.


	3. Grey

“Yamoshi.”

“King Sadala.”

The newly begun speech seemed already over. Nobody ever dared to declare those names. The first to take the floor was the King.

“We are all here, since you have accepted my invitation, to put an end to this long and useless diatribe. What you assert yourself, assumption that your associates support ... You know well that it goes against everything our people has fashioned for centuries, the stable balance that governs this world and allows us to govern others.”

“And, as you know, what you claim has fashioned this only apparent balance of forces, feeding on the peace and harmony of the worlds that have fallen into the hands of the Saiyans. What we teach our children then we ignore in action, we instruct according to a justice we do not apply.”

“It is good for young people to learn how the world works, so that sooner or later they can shape according to their own wishes."

“And when do we allow them to make that happen? Here I see sitting above my head only veterans of a story that has already been over for decades, not the children of tomorrow! If we have created a world for our heirs, why then do we persist in binding it to the hands of their fathers?”

"You surprise me. Do you expect an infant to know how to manage a family, if not the whole state?”

"Certainly not a baby, but a young man tempered by experience! We send so many into the cold of the cosmos, demanding service and victory from them, but at their return they never see their lifelong efforts rewarded.”

“Saiyans are warriors, and a warrior is not formed in a few years of skirmishes who knows where! A fighter's soul is tempered in the fire and blood of a war, and wars do not end after a handful of battles.”

“But death appears even before the assault, sometimes. What use do you find in a youngster who has died before he has even struck his blow, in a parent without an heir or a brother without a champion?”

“This is not a question that a true warrior asks themself! A true Saiyan fights with the ferocity of a beast and the grandeur of a mountain, rising above any opponent and emerging victorious from every battle.”

“Is this what we must call those who fell in battle, then? Such the way you call all those who don't fight? False and impostors?”

“Why do you think we set up castes centuries ago? Those worthy of power have the freedom to step forward and prove their worth; whoever wishes can do so, and go into battle!”

“And who, on the other hand, prepares your ship, who sows and collects wheat and who prepares the bread with which you feed yourself is therefore of no value? You see virtue only in warriors and you look away from your most loyal subjects, who ask nothing neither can ask for anything in exchange for their service.”

“Those who have quality and want to prove it must embody the ideal of the Saiyans, the most ruthless and unsurpassable warriors of all cosmos.”

“You speak of the Great Ape as if everyone was able to contain his fury.”

“Indeed: those who are able to have every right to ascend to the pinnacle of our society as they ascended to the pinnacle of control over their Saiyan blood.”

“That’s how it is, then. Someone who like you ignores the limits of the Great Ape and exalts its qualities does not see worth, but profit. And if you do not see the profit in all the blood shed in battle, then you have never seen the gifts that this society of taciturn servants has given you. How long, then, will you abuse the patience of your subjects? How long will this mad policy make fun of our people? How long do you think the Saiyans will put up with your unbridled audacity?”

“Watch how you talk, Yamoshi. Are you threatening us with rebellion? Are you threatening the foundations of our world? Are you threatening the laws that have elected their most valiant representatives, the fearless warriors who now sit around you?”

“You then, do you threaten us with your vassals, Sadala? The vassals who have been elected by the laws and precepts that they themselves have established, putting pressure on the weak? You, you call this power, you call the Great Ape the apex of our evolution, but ignore the true potential of the Saiyan race.”

“We ignore nothing, least of all the potential of a true Saiyan! Our world has always been based on strength, because we are warriors, that is what makes us Saiyans!”

“You have been instilling in your people your perverse reading of power for centuries, reducing it to an insignificant and easily corruptible idea, because you pretend not to know what power really is or where it actually resides!”

“Now listen here! Do you think you can confuse us, the best of the Saiyans, with these silly turns of phrase? What could possibly symbolize the power of a Saiyan if not his strength, if not the ferocity that is so well embodied in the Great Ape?”

“You confuse power for strength, as you confuse pride for ferocity. We are Saiyans, the warrior people, the proudest and most indomitable people in all the Universe... But look at us now: we are not proud, we are feared; we are not indomitable, we are wild. Since when do we no longer care about the justice that we counsel so much to our children? Ours is a depressing achievement, not an honour to be envied!”

“What justice should we respect, if not our own?”

“If we really respected it, would it feel right to be attacked and conquered by an invader? Could we rejoice in it as we rejoice in a victory so arduously obtained? We know true justice, the same that the Gods of Gods wanted to teach us, when they were still full of hope for our people. But due to the personal gain of a few, everyone has lost the freedom to write their own destiny.”


	4. Black

The debate went on for hours.

Suddenly, Yamoshi heard a cry: he turned around, but noticed no one had spoken. Tired by the long controversy, he then sat down, and so did King Sadala. One after the other, the followers of each took turns talking, until evening fell.

The king declared the convention to be concluded, and everyone left the great palace. So, Yamoshi's disciples approached their master and wanted to hear a comment about the long discussion.

“Do not worry, we wasted no time. Of course, we have not reached an agreement, nor have we formalized a change, but we shook things up. Have you not seen the faces of the king's ministers? They were the first to point out the contradictions present in his majesty's words. Many of them had nothing to say to us, while others did not want to express their favour to our cause. Let us insist, and insist more and more, because we are the first to do so, but we are on the right side and therefore, in the end, truth will prevail. And the truth will suit everyone, not just a handful of oligarchs. But now it has become late. Gather your people and let us go home.”

They all took off, following the faint red glow of his hair, weak but calm; they passed hills and plains, crossed valleys, and returned to the mountains where they lived.

The sky was black. And it was not packed of stormy clouds but choked by dark smoke. A gloomy miasma, hot and revolting, rose upwards, obscuring the first stars of the evening.

Yamoshi was horrified. Idle, motionless in the middle of the sky, terrified at the gaze of the fire that danced on the mountain slopes. High flames threw themselves more and more towards the top of the mountains, scattering ashes and embers all around, blackening the turquoise meadows that Yamoshi loved so much.

Someone behind him screamed in desperation. This time, as well as the previous one, as he now realized, the scream was real.

His entourage scattered across the smoke-filled field and he too decided to descend to the ground. Incredulous, he stumbled over what only that morning had been a town full of life, and now was reduced to a mound of coal.

He struggled in breathing, but heard his companions coughing violently and so regained a certain amount of reasoning. He crossed his arms in front of the chest, shaking uncontrollably. He screamed, screamed with his chest swelling increasingly, screamed so loud that the taste of blood emerged in his mouth. He then let out a hellish wind, freezingly cold and full of flames, raising his arms to the heavens. His roar went over the mountains, through the neighbouring valleys: the smoke rose, and the fire died out. Now silence reigned everywhere.

He turned around, frightened. He saw his companions, those whom he proudly called his friends, kneel on the ground with panic in their eyes, and rummage in what once was their home in search of their children, lift and hold in their hands the lifeless body of a creature that was so similar to them, and then cry.

He could no longer catch his breath. He sobbed, confused, horrified, nauseated, all beyond any limits that he could think of as human. His heart seemed to explode in his bloated chest, his back bent, more and more curved and downward, crushed by an invisible weight, an overwhelming guilt that he felt circulating in his veins.

He looked up again. He was not the only one: bent over on the ground he saw the by despair scarred faces of his companions, bent on the ground like him.

The pain found its way into his insides and he felt collapsing; his stomach twisted, the lungs lurched again and again, with ever more violence; his blood boiled, his muscles pulsing uncontrollably.

The wind finally stopped, but his red hair would not cease its waving. It began to dance harder and harder, more and more disturbed like his soul. Fire flared up on his skin, dense and hot, shining it made its way into the air next to him, and crawled on the ground lifting the stones around it.

The five most loyal to him rushed to his aid. They would never have imagined seeing their teacher in that state: he trembled, emitted faint cries, jolting from time to time, and the flaming aura around his body became more furious with every second that passed. His shoulders creaked in pain, his back arched in torment as if under torture.

They all threw themselves on him, sank their hands into that thick fire that burned and shook chaotically. One hand then another, they called him, they called him by name, they clung to mih as if they wanted to quench his flames.

He felt their hands, he felt the caresses, the grasp of those familiar palms, but his pain did not intend to calm down. On the contrary, it was reinvigorated, increasingly violent, fueled by the fear that perhaps he had lost his family, terrified by the idea that he could lose his life partners.

And so, he felt anger.

He screamed, for long, his voice ploughing through the air.

The fire around him became more lively, a fervent and dazzling flame rose from him, more intense, brighter, throwing light on those who were close to him, hurling them away and lighting them up with hyaline light, clear and clearer, until it completely changed tone.

The flame focused on him, always violent and dense, but even more cohesive and solid.

Yamoshi twinkled with a new colour, his hair changed its appearance, his eyes transformed into shining lights, and it illuminated his whole world with blue.


	5. Blue

Yamoshi stood up. He looked at his hands, swollen and trembling, wrapped in the bluish glow that, like his companions, he had never seen.

But in his mind and soul there was no room for amazement.

He gritted his teeth, heard them grind loudly, and turned his look to the east.

The moon had already risen. And, that very night, it rose round and filled with faded light.

He figured everything out, and wanted to cry, but his fury was insurmountable and grew from moment to moment.

The blue flame hovered in the air jumping here and there, in search of the horizon. He stopped, bent his elbows, and his aura grew immensely. Its light was as bright as that of the sun and so it lit up the world like a second dawn.

The wounded stood up, enraptured by that incomprehensible sight. The afflicted ones looked up, captured by that intense and warm colour. The furious leapt skyward, chasing the new-born star.

His five favourites approached him, the only ones who could share his anger. They trembled, staring at a distant point on the horizon, and their eyes changed like those of their master. Their raven hair vanished all of a sudden, covered by a dazzling golden splendour, so similar to the magnificence of dawn. They fell into the blond aura, ethereal manifestation of their fury, and ascended into the sky following the god.

A cry of passion arose from the ground: sad, desperate, full of fury and rage, yearning for justice, overflowing with courage. The proudest cry one could have ever heard.

Tens of thousands got up, guided by the sight of the cobalt flame, rising into the night sky to the sound of a glum clamour of hope and all followed the blue light under the moon circle.

They flew for a long time, bringing that terrible howl with them. Other heads looked up to the heavens and answered the divine call. Far or near, they called their companions, they called their brothers and sisters and followed the trail in the sky, surrounding themselves with crystalline aura, because they knew they had to follow the light of the god.

Rivers of stars flowed under the moonlight following the blue-tinged Saiyan, a comet of warriors darting swiftly and terrifically across the night sky.

Yamoshi scanned the horizon, and all was as he had imagined it: they were waiting for him. Gargantuan beasts stood on the crest of the eastern mountains and, as soon as his blue light was in sight, the tyrants began their attack. They would have never admitted it: seeing that turquoise glow terrified them, and everyone was already horrified by the idea of having to fight that man.

But Yamoshi was superior, unreachable, for that brief moment, and he wasn't alone. Like lightning he thundered on his enemies, looking for that face that had challenged him that very morning, opening a way for the thousands following him.

The comet of warriors crept into the heart of the enemy wall, bringing chaos to the improvised battlefield.

The blows rang out across every continent, light burst on every land and shouts rose from every throat. Yamoshi's flame hurled itself over and over at his enemies, flinging lightning bolts into the sky, and his strength was second only to his pain and anger.

Many surrendered to the strength of the high-class warriors, so they turned their eyes to the sky. Their hearts raced at the sight of the white moon, so bright and haunting. However, very few had already experienced the mutation and were able to control themselves; the others did nothing but create further havoc in the tumultuous stone arena.

The blows dealt by Yamoshi echoed dull in the air, and hundreds fell under his fists. For hours and hours, he fearlessly fought against the terrifying titans, defeated them one by one, submerging them in his divine splendor, so much that, of some, no trace remained.

His five most faithful, immersed in the golden aura, stood by him until the end, fighting heroically, but eventually collapsed exhausted under the heavy blows of the nobles of Sadala.

The moon at last vanished from the celestial vault, and at the first light of day, only the Saiyan with blue hair was left to resist the assault of the tyrannical king of Sadala.

And when the celestial flame of the Saiyan god died out, suppressed by the golden rays of dawn, Yamoshi's life was also eclipsed.

That day Yamoshi perished, _but this was only the beginning of his legend._

_Afterwards, Yamoshi's spirit wandered in continuous search for six righteous-hearted Saiyans,_

_seeking a new savior:_

_the Super Saiyan God._


End file.
